JUDGMENT DAY

“It was a thankless title, and I was glad to finally get rid of it.”

I’ve often wondered why people run for political office, whether it be local, state, or national. Are they gluttons for punishment? Do they do it for power, or to grow their financial portfolio?

Some may have an ulterior motive, such as using their political pull ‘once elected’ to advance a personal agenda. Sometimes that comes out in the wash when investigations are initiated. Hopefully, political incumbents run for the right reasons: to make towns, cities, states, and our country a better place to live.

The only time I was elected to anything, other than class clown, was when I was voted in as shop steward. My main reason for even throwing my hat into the ring was to improve safety in the shop where I worked.

Our air quality was extremely poor, with tests proving it. I served as shop steward for two years and came away feeling totally demoralized. In one instance – where a major safety issue was concerned – I was continually targeted by management even after things were settled.

Supervisory personnel saw me as a rabble-rouser, while membership wouldn’t back me when the heat was on. It was a thankless title, and I was finally glad to get rid of it.

For example, a large piece of equipment the workers used had no brakes. I put a red tagout on it to be repaired because this was a heavy Hough loader and could easily injure or kill someone.

The loader was needed for a specific task, but the shop superintendent removed the warning and told an operator to drive it anyway. This was a major violation of OSHA regulations.

I stood my ground, and things got heated, with threats directed at me. The repairs were eventually completed, but when it came time for that operator to testify that he’d been ordered to drive the machine, he claimed the opposite, making me look like a liar.

Politicians on all fronts often go through the same thing, enduring countless attacks, especially during election time. Some ads make it appear that an opposing candidate just escaped from Alcatraz Island. I’m stretching things here, but I’ve seen ads claiming a candidate was involved in criminal activity, and I always think, “Why weren’t they arrested?”

Exodus 18:21 instructs that leaders should be capable, God-fearing, trustworthy men who hate dishonesty. I could list several politicians who I believe don’t fit that mold. Rather than being judgmental out in the open, I’ll let my votes reward the men and women I deem honest and trustworthy.

Each night before I go to bed, I pray for certain politicians, when in fact, I should be praying for them all, at least for their salvation. A few candidates and incumbents in past elections definitely needed spiritual guidance, especially when it came to rights for the unborn. “If a heartbeat is detected, the unborn child needs to be protected.”

You’ll never find me casting a ballot for politicians who think differently here. How could any responsible mother, father, grandfather, or grandmother vote blue with a clear conscience? For those voters, along with elected politicians, who see no ill in their ways, on judgment day ─ there’ll be a price to pay.

Older voter exits a booth labeled Voting Station 4

JUST ANOTHER DAY

“People take things like newspaper stories for granted, as if a robot wrote them.”

Blue Jeep at Dutch Bros drive-thru with two passengers holding coffee

Sometimes it feels like just another day, until I remember that “Each new day is more special than the last.” Often, I must sit back and reflect on how blessed I am to realize the truth of those words.

Self-pity tries to sneak in on occasion, and I shut the door. This usually happens after I’ve written something I consider Ernest Hemingway-worthy yet hear no praise from those who’d read it. That hasn’t stopped me from writing for many years now.

Artists often suffer the same fate as writers, getting no accolades until after they’ve passed. Over the years, I’ve received more praise for holding doors open for people than for anything else.

That’s okay, because I was taught to perform random acts of kindness for strangers rather than expect kudos for personal accomplishments. A “Thank you” for holding that door open goes a long way, and I make sure to return the gesture when someone does the same for me.

Proverbs 27:2 says, “Let another praise you, and not your own mouth; a stranger, and not your own lips.”

In restaurants, I always tell the server if their food is great, since I’m sure they hear the opposite most often. I once asked the publisher of the “Lamar Democrat” newspaper, Renee Reeves, how I’d know the stories I sent her were any good. It was rare for a reader to ever acknowledge such.

Renee told me that subscribers would let her know right away if they weren’t up to snuff. That seemed a bit odd to me, but I suppose it’s just human nature, as sad as it seems. People take things like newspaper stories for granted, as if a robot wrote them. That’s actually happening now with AI, or artificial intelligence. These days, if I come across a good human-written piece, I try to let the writer know.

I do my best to compose excellent stuff, whether it’s articles, poems, or songs. If it appeals to me, that’s as good as it’ll get because I’m not working with someone else’s hands or brain. I’ve written some very funny things, though it seems I’m the only one who finds them humorous. It doesn’t matter what others are thinking because I can’t read their minds, which is good.

At least once a month, I celebrate what I call “Mike Appreciation Day.” This is a time to perk myself up when no one else does it for me. My treat is a trip through Culver’s drive-thru for a peanut butter and chocolate shake, or a visit to Dutch Brew Coffee for a raspberry mocha with whipped cream. Joleen always gets to partake of the celebration, so it’s not strictly a personal celebration.

I’ll keep opening doors for people, especially women, even if they don’t acknowledge it, which has happened. If my ‘appreciation meter’ gets too low, the fastest way to recharge it is to take my old truck to a car show.

The 1950 Chevrolet pickup garners more attention in a few hours than I can handle. Add that to the thank-you from opening doors for folks, and my story and songwriting become nothing more than personal enjoyment. That’s how I prefer to keep things.

SILENTLY WHISPERED

“I see ‘jumbo shrimp’ often on restaurant menus and in the frozen food section of grocery stores.”

Older couple embracing on a deck overlooking a mountain lake

Whether watching television, listening to the radio news, or even music, I’m always on alert for new oxymorons. For those who don’t know, an oxymoron is a figure of speech that combines words with opposite or seemingly contradictory meanings.

Today, I learned three new ones after first hearing a news reporter use the phrase “alien resident.” That same newsman then repeated “small crowd’ a couple of times to describe the turnout at this Democrat politician’s rally.

Later that same day, an Elton John song came on called “Honky Cat.” I know this tune well as it came out in 1972, the year I graduated from high school. As I listened to the lyrics, “high class ladies from New Orleans” grabbed my attention.

Looking at my wife, I told her that I’d just learned a new oxymoron: high-class prostitutes. When she mentioned Sir Elton John didn’t use this phrase, I told her that’s what he meant, but the singer was being politically correct. Later that day, when I researched the song’s meaning, I was correct.

I see ‘jumbo shrimp’ often on restaurant menus and in the frozen food section of grocery stores. ‘Little giant’ often describes a short fellow capable of doing humongous tasks, not to be confused with gentle giants. For information’s sake, Jolly Green Giant is the tall fellow hawking peas and carrots, and Jolly is a pretty ugly dude. Pretty ugly, of course, is an oxymoron.

I’ll try to think of other oxymorons and use them in sentences. When company stops by, my wife likes to break out ‘plastic silverware’ to save on dishwashing. The other day, she was looking for ‘original copies’ of something. Lake Mead is ‘growing smaller’ with each passing year. Hopefully, you spotted those three.

A former Army enlistee once told me ‘Military intelligence’ was an oxymoron, probably because he was unhappy with his limited time in the service after being dishonorably discharged. I’m sure he was one of a handful who believed that, because I didn’t. Good grief! Did you catch that last one?

I saw on Facebook that a Lake Havasu resident’s dog was ‘found missing’ from its yard the other day, but thankfully, the pooch returned home before coyotes got it. If you clearly misunderstood that one, you’re probably not the only one. I hear the ‘deafening silence’ here. This last example below has a more serious tone.

If the ‘organized chaos’ in this country continues as it currently is, with folks from other countries trying to erase our culture as we know it, ‘civil war’ will eventually break out.

There’s nothing civil about war, as some ‘resident Middle East uninvited aliens’ want you to think. Things could get ‘pretty ugly’ fast, so it’s time to lock and load if you haven’t already, and that survivalist term isn’t ‘silently whispered’ around our house, especially not by friends living in Alaska.

Man reading The Yukon Valley News with headline “Organized Chaos Coming to Our Town”

CHILL

“Michelle’s message took a while to sink in, and I eventually saw the light.”

It seems everywhere I go ─ someone is complaining about something. I was part of that clique until about 10 years ago, when I drastically cut back on my petty complaints after hearing a minister explain how well citizens in the United States have it.

Pastor Chad Garrison mentioned that the poorest people in this country are far better off than those in third-world countries. He used statistics in his message, but I don’t recall the numbers. No one living here has a true reason to complain, unlike people in other impoverished lands.

Philippians 2:14 tells us: “Do everything without grumbling or arguing.” That is a hard pill to swallow for some because they seem to live to complain. I’m thinking of one person here, and those who know him would wholeheartedly agree. It’s just his nature, and that might be why he’s never kept a wife.

In the 1970s television sitcom “All in the Family,” Archie Bunker would always tell his wife, “Stifle yourself, Edith.” This came after she rambled on and on about a topic Archie disliked. Edith eventually turned the tables on her husband, telling Archie to zip it. I’ve never done that to anyone but would’ve liked to.

Twenty years ago, I was complaining about something political on Facebook when a friend basically told me to zip it unless I had a solution, which I didn’t. Michelle’s message took a while to sink in, and I eventually saw the light. That did set me on a path to complain less, but it didn’t totally end there. I believe Pastor Chad’s message was the final nail in the coffin.

These days, you won’t find me complaining about the food I get at a restaurant, because dining out is a blessing, and I’ve stopped taking this luxury for granted. If mashed potatoes are a little cold, they’ll still go down the yap. When someone drives a bit too slowly, I no longer get irritated because at this age I can go even slower than them.

Late mail is not a biggie. It only prolongs paying those bills, and at this point in life, who cares about their credit score anyway? The neighbors leaving their garbage cans out two days past pickup is no problem for me, since I’ve done the same, and the world kept right on revolving, just like on that soap opera, “As the World Turns.” My wife now tells me that show went off the air. We’ll just act like it didn’t for sake of my example here.

Mismatched socks, who gives a rip. No one looks that far down, as Joleen claims they do. Two different colors are nothing to get all worked up over. I no longer complain about which candidate gets in office, because I pray and vote, and that’s as much power as I have in that department. Whining or grumbling never does anything positive here except irritate those who have to listen.

I could go on and on, but that might come across as griping. I can only say that after a half century, I’ve finally changed, and feel much better for it. My 1970s advice for those feeling just the opposite right now: “Chill!”

Bearded man sitting outside a log cabin in an autumn mountain forest

INTO THE SUNSET

“My wife and I have attended for 40-plus years, both as spectators and as entrants with our 1950 Chevrolet pickup.”

Black vintage hot rod drifting on a road beside a desert river

The 48th annual “Run to the Sun” car show finished up, and by all visual indications, it was another huge success. Hot Rod cars and trucks from many states were present, though many Canadian entries were absent this year.

My wife and I have attended for 40-plus years, both as spectators and as entrants with our 1950 Chevrolet pickup. This year, with the old Chevy on the sidelines undergoing needed upgrades, we were looky-loos.

Joleen and I enjoyed watching the large, lively crowd, with young and old alike taking part, and we heard that Thursday night on McCulloch Boulevard was no exception. According to friends, turnout was huge.

Unfortunately, a few more veteran car club members were absent this year, and it’s a bit sad, at least to me. I don’t know all the names, but I can quickly recall Wally, Bob, Dennis, Ted, George, Chuck, Ed, and Don. I remember their vehicles best.

An older guy always parked near the original main entrance, and he drove a bright orange Henry J gasser sedan. He was a friendly older fellow and parked in the same spot year after year. I observed him cruise this loud, high-horsepower beast around town several times.

After talking with someone who knew Chuck, I learned he’d passed on. Jerry Crowe said the same held true for a gentleman who owned a glossy black ’32 Ford Deuce Coupe with a supercharged Hemi, dual magnetos, and 16 spark plugs. That was perhaps my favorite ride.

Lead Sleds are becoming increasingly rare to see, as the older crowd appreciates them more than anyone, and that group of fans is shrinking as well. A sizable number of custom and lowered vehicles have driven off into the Arizona sun and are permanently parked in places unknown.

In vintage westerns, cowboys often rode away on horses in a cloud of dust at the end of a movie, waving to loved ones with tears in their eyes. The same holds true for carboys and cargirls at “Run to the Sun.”

Many will return, yet sadly, some won’t. These are the ones driving their steel ponies into the setting sun, leaving a cloud of white-and-blue tire smoke behind them, never to be seen again.

Hopefully, a younger generation of hot rod enthusiasts will fill these empty shoes. In closing, I’d like to be around to see the 50th “Run to the Sun” because that’ll be a Lake Havasu City milestone to not be missed.

Orange car labeled 696, Lake Havasu, Havasu Gasser, Henry J, Speed & Custom; Havasu Plaza sign

IF THE SHOE FITS…

“Those joining the “No Kings” rallies fit this mold to perfection. “

Man entering voter booth at polling station surrounded by Alaska voting signs

Something about the odd decisions that left-leaning people make perplexes me. How do they even accept their line of thinking? Do they vote Democrat merely because that’s what their parents or friends did, or still do?

I’m tired of hearing liberal political gadflies ignorantly whine about anything and everything related to a conservative candidate for no specific reason other than to hear themselves grumble. What they say here now goes in one ear and out the other.

I’ll call this bellyaching, or “flawed thinking,” since some folks simply complain for personal satisfaction. “Shut up!” for goodness’ sake. Not all of us want to hear or read such. Trump Derangement Syndrome (TDS) is real, and there seems to be no working vaccination for it.

Those joining the “No Kings” rallies fit this mold to perfection. I suppose they are the same group marching in support of abortion and against cruelty to animals. Flawed thinking at its finest, with these folks evidently having deserted ‘common sense’ on the birthing table. That might sound a bit harsh, but unfortunately, it’s the sad truth.

These are the individuals who advocate no criminal punishment for marijuana use, although that drug is proven to lead to bigger dependency problems. Those who say otherwise undoubtedly have fried brains or hope to capitalize on the money they’d make selling this dope.

I’m talking about the very same folks who have no problem letting people cross our border unvetted, in the name of humanism, although those illegals could destroy the whole country, like they’re currently doing in France and Spain.

I wouldn’t call this misguided logic as containing an iota of common sense. It baffles me why people think that way. Dyslexic personalities perhaps, brain fog, or a lack of Vitamin B12? If the shoe fits, wear it.

Why is it that Democrats focus solely on what President Donald Trump is doing and never bring up their plans for this country? Is it possible they have none? Who do they think should be president? They never say. Why are they supportive of the mutilation of children in gender identity issues? The list goes on and on.

All I can do to correct things is continue to vote for candidates out to protect my religious freedom, rights of the unborn, right to bear arms, and the right to say what I just did without being shut down by a left-leaning Democrat judge. Why those folks on the left vote the wrong way will always remain a mystery to me.

I was blessed with common sense, and with God-fearing parents and teachers who taught me right from wrong. I listened to them and had enough common sense to discern which was best when it came to voting. It’s too bad not everyone saw the same light!

Bearded hiker with backpack and walking stick overlooking a misty mountain valley

MISALIGNED REBELS

“The pro-Palestinian movement is a great example of people who don’t have a clue about the real history of Israel, Palestine, and Gaza.”

I’m so thankful that God blessed me with a working brain, and I try to use it as often as possible. There’ve been times when I didn’t, and the results showed. One such occasion was my first flight with my father in his small Piper Cherokee. I’d traveled in the back seat for a short trip, with my brother sitting next to Dad.

After we landed and the engine was still running, Jim and I decided to switch places, and I had to step out onto the wing to make this happen. Back inside, I told them it was windy outside, not quickly grasping that the turning propeller was creating the breeze. I believe they both thought I was joking, and after my brain reengaged, I saw the light and stayed mum.

Two educational areas I’ve been blessed with are reading comprehension and common sense. I always scored high on school and college tests where I read something and then had to correctly interpret it. The same goes for listening. On subjects where I’m up to speed, I quickly realize when someone is feeding me cow manure instead of the truth.

President George W. Bush and President Barack Hussein Obama, in speeches, both claimed that Islam is a religion of peace. My research says otherwise, and countless acts throughout history, from the sixth century to now, prove both men wrong.

Even news outlets have made that same claim, which makes me wonder how many people believe this, or if they just don’t want to rock the boat and go along with it. It’s good to see some brave folks starting to voice their honest opinions, as taboo as that may seem. Commentator Benny Johnson is one of them.

The pro-Palestinian movement is a great example of people who don’t have a clue about the real history of Israel, Palestine, and Gaza. Behind all this violence are, you guessed it, Islamic extremists and young communist sympathizers.

We’re watching the results of this play out in France and Spain, with the same about to happen in New York, Boston, Seattle, Portland, Detroit, Minneapolis, and other major Democratic run cities where Muslims have taken over.

If you don’t want to believe it can happen in your town, keep watching mainstream media for your slanted news, as many seem to do. These news agencies seem to ally with the Muslim Brotherhood.

Thankfully, we have a president who recognizes this growing dilemma and has closed the borders. Should Democrats get back in power, with extremist politicians representing Middle Eastern culture, and especially should the borders reopen, it’s lock-and-load time.

Of course, for those who can’t, I don’t even want to go there. You can get a good sense of what I mean by watching what’s happening in France. You’ll have to tune in to something besides CNN or MSNBC to get the real picture.

In closing, I’d bet that the legitimate citizens of the United Kingdom, Spain, France, and other countries where gun ownership is heavily controlled by government wish they could purchase firearms like Americans.

That’s one thing that’ll slow the burning and vandalism in the US. Foremost, though, are daily prayers asking God to protect us from these demonic savages, who, unfortunately, like in the United Kingdom, are already here. Voting for conservative Republican candidates completes the mission.

STORMY WEATHER

“Easing into my chair, I found the noise had only gotten louder, with metal rattling from a house next door.”

Storm lifting a trailer above the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama

Watching television reports of Hurricane Isaias inflicting heavy damage in the South and tropical storm Rachel bringing high winds and torrential rains to the West, including Lake Havasu City, I sat back in my easy chair and listened to the ruckus outside. Chairs and tables flew around, smacking against our house.

The American flag I meant to take down snapped and popped with each gust. At this point, I decided to go outside and survey the damage. It was raining cats and dogs, and I could hear a river rushing down the nearby wash.

A 20-year-old Pygmy Palm tree, like a drunken sailor, was lying on its side for the umpteenth time. The wire support that held it up had broken. Securing the flag and deciding to let the palm tree sleep things off, I was glad to finally go back inside.

Plopping into my comfortable chair, I found the noise had only gotten louder, with metal rattling from a house next door. Praying that the Lord would keep damage to a minimum, I thought of my late Papa and Mama Haynes and their little farm in Vernon, Alabama. They had a storm shelter carved into a hill, with a wooden door.

I can remember spending one night in this cave when a hurricane hit off Alabama’s coast, sending tornadoes throughout the state. Mama Haynes had quilts inside along with candles, matches, and a kerosene lamp. I don’t recall a bed, since I don’t think the dwelling was big enough to hold one.

My brother and I explored this storm shelter many times, and it always smelled damp and earthy. Salamanders called it home, and I now wonder if snakes did, too. Mom told me that, as a little girl, her parents and four sisters used it many times. Mama Haynes was a praying dynamo, and I doubt she stopped praying until each storm ended.

That old storm shelter eventually collapsed. I’m sure everything is still inside, since my grandparents never excavated the fallen dirt. I wanted to, but by then the property was sold.

With no storm shelter here in Havasu, and only four walls and a roof to protect us, and no basement to hide in, Joleen and I can only ask God to fortify our structure whenever these rare storms come up.

Thankfully, I insisted on hurricane straps on the garage roof trusses, although the builder said they weren’t needed. Code required them, and our building supervisor, John Ballard, had to literally shove this paperwork in the guy’s face.

I feel much safer now in a storm than I did in a trailer. Only those who’ve lived in mobile homes during high winds will know what I mean. In Alabama and Texas, there were times when I thought ours would blow away like Dorothy and Toto’s house in Kansas.

Joleen and I might not have a storm cellar, but we have something better, and there are no salamanders. I’ll simply ask God to protect us, but if it’s my time to go during an Arizona storm, I’d sure like to bring that old easy chair along.

Bearded man floating in armchair above a desert town during a dust storm

DOCTORS PREFER CAMEL

“Here in Havasu, I’ve watched Dr. Thomas Wrona retire, Dr. Pareed Aliyar, and, just recently, Dr. C. Reese Mead, my dentist.”

Children in a school cafeteria share candy cigarettes; bulletin board reads “LUNCHROOM RULES” and “GRADE 3 PROJECTS 1960.”

I’ve had several doctors retire over the years here in Lake Havasu City and in Anchorage, Alaska. Dr. John J. Smith retired after like 50 years of practice in Alaska, with Dr. Ernest Meinhardt taking over some of his family medical patients, with me being one of the lucky ones. Dr. Meinhardt had a dry sense of humor, yet I could make him crack a smile.

Meinhardt was the main flight physical examiner in Anchorage, and he owned an airplane. A picture of the Helio Courier was on his office wall, with the late Alaskan explorer Lowell Thomas Jr. having one almost identical.

Only doctors, lawyers, and successful businesspeople seemed to buy these Helio planes because they are expensive to maintain. I’ve never seen one at the Havasu airport.

I once asked Dr. Meinhardt if he thought I could fly helicopters. Looking at me, with a hardened face, he said, “You’ve got high blood pressure, vertigo, inner ear problems, and I just prescribed Xanax for your anxiety attacks. What do you think?” After that, he let go with a rare smile.

Dr. Joshua Wright II was my Anchorage dentist, and I was his client long enough to see him retire and leave the practice. Dr. Wright was also a politician, and several of my letters to the editor went against the grain on how he viewed things. Wright was a staunch Democrat while I was Republican. Despite this, we still got along, and I trusted his medical advice on teeth and oral health.

Here in Havasu, I’ve watched Dr. Thomas Wrona retire, Dr. Pareed Aliyar, and, just recently, Dr. C. Reese Mead, my dentist. My wife and I attended Dr. Mead’s going-away function outside his office.

A live DJ played music, with free non-alcoholic beverages from Sip Pop Culture and tasty hors d’oeuvres provided by a local caterer. This food was finger-lickin’ good, as the Colonel likes to say.

Dr. Wrona and his wife were there, and she’s also a retired dentist. Listening to the conversation going on around me, there was no lack of professional folks, along with dental clients like Joleen and me, or is that Joleen and I?

Years ago, when Dr. John J. Smith retired in Anchorage, I wanted to wrap a carton of Camel cigarettes as a gift, because back in the 1940s and 1950s, the R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Company advertised that doctors recommended Camel over all other brands.

Dr. Smith didn’t smoke, and I thought this joke was perfect for his retirement. I didn’t go through with it after being told this was a waste of money and he might be offended.

How I wish I hadn’t listened to that person because I now believe the good doctor, along with his medical colleagues, would’ve thought it hilarious. Dr. Smith lived to be 94, and I hope all of my doctors make it that far or further.

For Dr. Reese Mead’s retirement, a few pieces of Reese’s candy were tossed into his card basket. Someone told me that dentists can sometimes be the biggest candy aficionados. I’m not sure Dr. Mead is, but he can get rid of it quickly with Halloween coming up.

Speaking of Halloween, candy, and cigarettes. Just recently, I saw an advertisement for a box of different varieties of candy cigarettes, undoubtedly meant for the upcoming holiday.

When I was a kid in Selma, Alabama, some parents occasionally gave out these popular candy delights when we trick-or-treated. They all tasted the same to me, much like sweetened chalk.

For a brief two seconds, I thought of buying a carton and sending them to my youngest grandchildren. After thinking it over, kids these days would probably be expelled from school for having such contraband in their lunchboxes. I can still visualize one of them sitting in their school lunchroom, pulling out a pack and passing it around to classmates like soldiers do in old war movies.

This act wasn’t punishable in 1960, but today, being a student and trying to have harmless fun in the classroom without causing a serious nuclear meltdown is a thin line to walk. I would’ve never survived!